lowered the slope till suddenly a perfect spectrum of solar light appeared, and he turned grinningly toward his father.

Chase nodded and smiled.

“Some day, when I’m not making so much useless money, I’ll write a little paper about that. You have put your finger on a new way of measuring light-waves. But what the devil are you doing up here when you ought to be out with your nine?”

“I want to know what part of water burns?”

“Do you mean is burned?”

“Yes, dad.”

“Hydrogen.”

“Can I make some?”

“You can’t make anything. All you can do is to discover things that God Almighty put in the earth, and you are damned lucky if you can do that. I ought not to teach you to swear, but this letter I’m writing is to a self-made man who rather needs to be sworn at.”

“Aren’t you a self-made man, dad?”

“No! I came to this town bare-footed, but it’s only by the grace of God that I’m not in jail. You’ll be doing well if you keep out of jail yourself.”

“I will, dad, but can I turn some hydrogen loose?”

“Do you want to blow a hand off?”

“I don’t mind, if I can see how the meat looks.”

“Then go and ask Norah for a marmalade jar. Get a glass one, and wash the cork.”

Marvin was off like a flash.

Chase rose and paced the room, thinking about his children and thanking God they were no worse than they were. Every one of them except Helen was likely to pay dearly for the energy inherited from his own restless self. Augustus however was safely married without any serious explosion so far. Charles had not yet been expelled from college. Helen—sweet flower—was safe in her grave. Baby Anita was for the moment safe down stairs in her mother’s arms. But Marvin—this lovable twelve-year-old dare-devil—this imp of bottled lightning—what of him?

Marvin’s worst escapade thus 

 Prev. P 2/206 next